


The Missing Line in My Favorite Song

by embroiderama



Series: Truth 'Verse [16]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen struggles to prove his love and earn back Jeff's trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Missing Line in My Favorite Song

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set directly after [The Moon Blind-Sided the Sky Again](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/114118.html) in the [Truth 'verse](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/tag/truth+%27verse+outline). Chronologically, this is early March 2007.

For two weeks, Jensen had been walking around trying to act as close to normal as he could manage, as close to normal as a man could be with conflicting voices shouting at him in his head. Conflicting sides of himself pulled on his sanity like it was the rope in a tug-of-war, and half the time it felt like that rope was about to snap. So the fact that he couldn't manage to be Mr. Sweetness-and-Light? Too goddamn bad.

On the one side, there was Jeff and himself-with-Jeff. There was the fucking hot sex, best he'd ever had, the way he felt so comfortable in Jeff's arms. There was Jeff's wide smile and the quality of his mind, his heart. And then there was the look on Jeff's face as he'd left Jensen's apartment that last time--the thin, transparent layer of anger sitting on top of hurt and betrayal--and it was all Jensen's fault. _You suck so hard_, that side shouted in his head. _You had all that, and you fucked it up._

On the other side, there was very nearly the whole of the previous twenty-six years of his life. There were the jokes he heard from some of the guys in high school and the sneering comments from his uncle or his father. There was his whole stupid history of never being able to stay with anybody long, never feeling like he'd had a true and lasting connection with any of the women he'd been with. That side of his head shouted out words like _pervert_ and _asshole_ and _loser_, and Jensen had a hard time convincing himself that they were wrong.

When Jared called him up and said Jeff's name, everything in his head went silent for just a second before his heart started racing and everything kicked back in more frantic than ever. Because if Jared knew--if Jared knew, Jensen was going to have to spend 70 hours every week looking at Jared and seeing that truth reflected in his eyes.

Jared knocking at his door, coming maybe twelve hours after that phone call, felt inevitable and horrible but Jared didn't bat an eyelash at any of the crazy shit Jensen had to say--and the crowd in his head got quieter. Sitting there with Jared, hanging out for a couple hours playing X-Box, he could tune them out entirely. Jared wanted to stay, hang out all weekend maybe, but Jensen pushed him out the door. He watched as the car pulled away and then went inside and picked up his phone.

He sat back down on the couch and looked over at the other side, the side where Jeff had sat the last evening they were together. He dialed Jeff's number, and as he listened to it ring he prayed, _Answer, please. Please, please answer._

~~~

The bitter cold wind of early March bit through Jeff's jeans as he stood in the park, waiting for Bisou to finish sniffing the benches, the light posts, and the edges of the brown winter grass for traces of the many dogs who had been there before her. As unpleasant as the weather was, Jeff couldn't hate it entirely. Fewer people than normal were out in the park and most of those who were around were too focused on getting out of the cold to pay attention to any minor TV stars who might be in their midst.

Jeff didn't normally mind the attention, and sometimes it was great--finding out that he'd touched somebody with his work, that what he'd done really meant something to people. Days like this, though, when he didn't feel remotely prepared to smile and laugh and hug crying women, Jeff thanked God for bulky, hooded coats and the weather that required them. Bisou continued to run around, clearly not minding the cold day and refusing to decide on a suitable place to pee, so Jeff gave in and sat down on one of the green benches lining the path. With a sigh, he pulled out his phone and called up his voice mail.

Jensen's message. When Jeff went back into his trailer the previous evening after filming a scene that required him to act like a man absolutely besotted with love, his phone was buzzing intermittently, letting him know that a new message waited for him.

Jensen's message. Jeff thought he probably ought to just delete it--he was trying to forget Jensen, after all--but he was helpless to do anything other than listen to it again.

"Hey, Jeff. It's me. I'm so--you were right. I was lying to myself and to you, and I--I miss you. So much. And I'm sorry because I hurt you, and I never meant to do that. Please. Just, please. Give me another chance. Just, please, at least call me back. I don't even know where you are. Wherever you are, can we get together? Next weekend? Please, Jeff."

Against his better judgment, Jeff hit "2" to save the message again rather than deleting it. Just hearing Jensen's voice hurt. He sounded like he meant it as much as or more than anything else Jeff had ever heard him say and Jeff didn't doubt that he did mean it. For the moment, for the duration of the lonely night until whatever internalized crap Jensen couldn't seem to get rid of reared its ugly head.

Jeff looked at his watch--7:30 am. It would be 4:30 in LA or Vancouver and, with any luck, Jensen was fast asleep and wouldn't hear his phone ring. He dialed Jensen's number and held his breath through three rings, relaxing when it clicked over to voicemail.

"Hey, Jensen. I got your message. I'm in Manhattan working on a film. Jen, I--I appreciate what you said. The truth is I miss you too, but I can't do this again. You're not the first guy to have a hard time accepting who he is, how he feels, and for all I know you'll change your mind again next week. I'm not looking to be totally out, out in the public eye, but I won't be your dirty secret, and I can't be your fuck buddy. I care about you, but I don't see anywhere for us to go. I don't think we should see each other for a while, if we can help it. I just--take care of yourself."

Jeff closed the phone and dropped his heated face into his cold hands. Bisou's nose in his face, her delicate, concerned sniffs, should have made him smile but he couldn't quite manage it.

~~~

Sunday morning, Jensen woke up from some of the best sleep he'd had all week. He groped for his phone and flipped it open, torn between hoping that Jeff had gotten and returned his message and hoping that Jeff was just waiting for a more decent hour to call. His heart raced when he saw that there was one missed call, one new message.

He listened to the message, hearing the sadness and the quiet determination in Jeff's voice, then dropped the phone. He rolled over onto his stomach and just let himself breathe in the darkness there for a minute. He could fix this. He _would_ fix this. It would be a challenge but he had to believe there was a way.

Late morning, six or seven hours to go until he had to catch his ride to the airport, Jensen picked up the phone and dialed Eric Kripke. He was hoping the man might be able to make some time for a meeting when he flew up to Vancouver later in the week. He wasn't sure exactly what was going to happen in his life in the next little while, and God knows they didn't even know if they'd get renewed, but it felt wrong not to give his boss some kind of heads-up.

"Jensen?" Eric answered his cell, sounding like he'd had about seven cups of coffee already. "Hey, what's going on?"

"I'm sorry to bother you on Sunday." Eric's wife had to be something like six months pregnant and Jensen cringed imagining that he'd interrupted his boss in the middle of rubbing her feet or whatever the hell you did for pregnant women.

"No, don't worry about it. What's up?"

"I was just wondering if you'd have a few minutes to meet with me this week or maybe next--"

"How about today?" Eric cut him off.

"Um, aren't you at home?"

"Yeah, yeah, but I was planning on heading into the office in a couple of hours, make sure everything's good for the upcoming week. Come on in, we can hang out."

"Yeah, sure. Okay." Jensen hung up, wondering what he'd said to make Eric think this was some kind of an emergency.

~~

Two hours later, Jensen walked through the dim entry areas of the Eric Enterprises offices and found his boss in his office, bent over his desk looking at sketches and printouts.

"Hey," Jensen called out from the doorway.

Eric perked his head up. "Jensen!" He stood up and walked around the desk to shake Jensen's hand. "Glad you made it in." He nodded his head over toward the small, round worktable on the other side of the room, and they both walked over to it and sat down.

"So?" Eric asked, his voice sounding oddly hesitant. "What did you want to talk about?"

"There's something going on with me, that, well--I'm not sure if it might end up affecting the show. I feel like it's only fair that I give you a heads-up."

"Okay." Eric nodded his head, his face sober and still.

"I, um." Jensen rubbed his hand across his face, the realization that he was about to say something he'd never exactly said to anyone, not Jeff and not Jared, not even really himself. "I think you should know that I, um, I'm gay. Sort of. Bi."

Eric just stared at Jensen for a minute, his usually rapid-fire mouth hanging open. "Gay?"

"Yeah, I mean, I don't know if that a prob--"

"I mean, is that it?" Eric blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a way that was starting to piss Jensen off. "You're just...into dudes?"

"Yeah, that's what it generally means."

"Oh, thank god." Eric covered his face with his hands, and when he pulled them away he was grinning like an idiot. "That's awesome, I just--thank you!"

Jensen sat back, twitching his feet on the floor. "I don't really get why this is such great goddamn news."

Eric tamed his grin and then looked Jensen straight in the eye. "The reports I've been hearing from on set, the way you've been acting--" He held up his hand when Jensen started to protest that he hadn't heard any complaints about his acting. "On screen, you're golden, but off screen--it hasn't been good. I was getting ready to have to ask you to come in here myself."

"Seriously? I mean, I know I've had kind of a short temper."

"Jensen." Eric's face was deadly serious. "I was starting to think doing this show, the pressure, was too much for you. Maybe you were doing drugs and we needed to take a hiatus for you to go to rehab. Maybe, I don't know, mental illness."

"Jesus. Nothing like that, I swear. Just...stuff. I'm sorry, I know you've got enough to worry about with what might happen to the show."

"Look, forget about the show for a minute. You've got a lot of people worrying about you and a good number wanting to poison your lattes."

"Great." Jensen rubbed his hands together, watching the way his fingers slid across each other. "I'm not ready to tell a whole lot of people about this. If I can help it, I'm sure as hell not looking to end up on the front cover of People. I've got to fix some things personally, but I'm okay." He looked up and grinned at the unfamiliar earnestness on Eric's face. "I swear I'm not cracking up on you."

"Good. Look, you need anything, need us to try and be a little flexible with your schedule, let me know and I'll do my best to make it happen."

"Thanks. That really--it really means a lot to me, man."

"I just have one question, so far as how this affects the production."

"Okay." Jensen bit the inside of his lip, wondering if this was when the other shoe would drop. "Shoot."

"The guy--I'm assuming there's a guy you've been involved with?" At Jensen's tight nod he continued. "Is he part of the cast? The crew?"

"Ah--" Jeff wasn't really part of the cast anymore. Not precisely part of the cast. "Um, no?"

"Okay, let's make this simpler." Eric smiled a little. "Is it Jared?"

"Oh." Jensen shook his head. "No, not Jay."

"A producer? Anyone on that level?"

Jensen considered telling Eric that, yes, he was in fact sucking Cyrus's cock, but he didn't think it was likely Eric would appreciate the joke at this point. "No."

"Okay, beyond that, as long as there aren't any problems on set, it's really not any of my business as far as the show goes."

"There won't be any more problems."

"Well, you let me know if any come up. And Jensen? As far as I go, personally?"

"Yeah?"

"I wish you luck. Whoever you're trying to fix things with, I hope it gets better."

"Yeah," Jensen whispered, looking down at the table. "Me, too."

~~~

Jensen walked on set Monday morning with a large white shopping bag full of little boxes of fancy, over-priced cookies. He walked around the lot, poking his head into the various trailers and, every time he saw somebody he thought he'd probably talked to in the past couple of weeks, he handed them a package.

"Sorry I've been an asshole. Have some cookies."

Most everyone just nodded and took the cookies. A couple of people gave him effusive hugs that were really pretty embarrassing but what was he going to do about it? Be an asshole again? He figured that the main reason a few of the crew members hadn't tossed the boxes back in his face was that he was one of two main stars on the TV show that gave them a paycheck. Still, he was grateful.

When he got close to the PA he made cry the previous week, she veered away like she'd suddenly found something she needed to do over by the sound trailer.

"Hey!" He cried out, trying to sound as friendly as he could. "Mandy? It's Mandy, right?"

She stopped and turned around, looking a little nervous and a little annoyed. "Do you need something, Mr. Ackles?"

"No, hey, look, I'm sorry I was such a dick to you last week. I was totally out of line and I hope you'll forgive me. And I got you some cookies." He held out one of the last boxes in her direction.

She took the box and looked at it for a couple of seconds before handing it back. "It's okay. But, uh, you can keep the cookies."

Jensen bit his lip, hating that this girl was still mad at him. "It's not okay. Really, what I said to you--you're not stupid. I mean, I don't know you very well, but I don't think Eric would hire somebody who was stupid, and I just-- I was mad at myself. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Mandy nodded. "Thank you for the apology. It is okay, really. I just don't want the cookies."

"Aw, come on. Everybody likes cookies."

"Well, yeah. Look, Mr. Ackles, I just don't want these cookie with gross eggs and stuff in them. I only eat vegan cookies."

Jensen raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "Fair enough. But call me Jensen, okay?"

Mandy nodded. "Okay, thanks, Jensen." As soon as he nodded back she continued on her path across the lot.

By the time Jensen got to Jared's trailer, his bag was nearly depleted. He knocked on the door and Jared called out, "Come on in!" As soon as Jensen got inside, Jared grinned at the bag. "Some of those cookies better be for me, bitch."

Jensen pulled out a box easy three times the size of the ones that had come before it. "I got you the family size variety."

"Oh, dude!" Jared beamed. "You know me so well."

~~~

Jensen made it through the day without snapping at anyone which felt like a good thing because what was next? Little boxes from Tiffany's? Between camera set-ups, he spent most of his time thinking, trying to figure out what to do next.

However, he also spent a little bit of that time making a few phone calls and, when he got to set the next morning, he found Mandy and handed her a box of vegan cookies that looked fucking delicious. When she saw the name of the bakery on the box, he finally got a smile.

~~~

Another long day of shooting interspersed with periods of anxiety and bitten-tongue bad temper had taken its toll, and Jensen kicked back on his couch with a nice, wide glass and a bottle of whiskey. He'd conveniently not eaten much for dinner, so the liquor hit fast, spinning smoothness through his head after only a few shots. He lay flat out on the couch with his feet propped up on the opposite arm and stared at the blank white ceiling of his living room.

Three days down. Two to go. He had no fucking clue how to fix things with Jeff; he only knew that it had to be fixed or he was going to go crazy. Jensen propped himself up enough to take another couple slugs of whiskey, and the smell made him think of Chris. Something about whiskey and Chris Kane just went hand in hand. Before his sluggish brain had a chance to reconsider, Jensen had his phone in his hand and was dialing Chris's number.

"Jensen!" Chris shouted into the phone the way he always did. "Haven't heard from you in a dog's age!"

"Sorry, man, just been kinda busy. So what are you up to?"

"Dude, I'm in New York! Gettin' ready to play a couple of shows with Steve!"

"Jeff's in New York, too," Jensen blurted out without thinking.

"Who the fuck is Jeff?"

"Morgan. Jeffrey Dean Morgan. From my show."

"Oh, okay then. Thank you so much for that random piece of information, you drunk bastard!" Chris laughed, cackling so loudly that Jensen had to pull the phone away from his ear for a second.

"'s'not random," Jensen muttered, thinking about Chris and Steve and Jeff all there in the city together. Maybe Chris could go talk to Jeff for him. Or Steve. Steve was nicer.

"Huh?"

"It's not random." Suddenly, Jensen hated that Chris didn't know about this thing. "I gotta tell you something."

"Well, go ahead!"

Jensen swallowed, tightening his grip around the phone. "I've been seeing Jeff."

"Seeing?"

"Screwing. And, and I fucked up, and he won't talk to me, and I--I think I'm gonna die."

"Holy shit." Chris didn't shout this time and, in contrast, the words sounded like a whisper. "You serious here, Jen?"

"As a fuckin' heart attack."

"Okay. Jesus. Look, why don't you come out east this weekend? Catch the show?"

"Yeah? You sure you want me to with, you know, what I said?"

"Shut the fuck up! I'm probably gonna kick your ass for not telling me sooner, but I promise I won't hurt your pretty face."

"Okay." Jensen thought about being in the same city as Jeff for a couple of days but not being able to see him, and it made the booze curdle up on his stomach. "Thanks, man. I'll call you later 'cause I gotta go throw up."

~~~

Hanging over the toilet, spitting the last traces of bile and alcohol from his mouth, Jensen wished he knew how to fix this. He couldn't blame Jeff for doubting him, couldn't blame his hesitation, and the memory of the sadness he'd heard behind the anger in Jeff's voice made him feel as sick as the whiskey did.

Fuck, Jeff had given him so much--so much good love and so much leeway to run away and come back--and what had he asked for? He'd never asked for--

Jensen shifted to lean back against the wall and thought about the moment right before everything had started to fall apart. Jeff had agreed, gladly it seemed, to be on the bottom, and he'd joked around, _What, no flowers or moonlight serenades?_

At least, in his lust-addled state of mind, Jensen had assumed it was nothing more than a joke but looking back now he wondered if he was imagining the shadow of something serious--something disappointed--in Jeff's face. Surely Jeff didn't really want those things exactly but he clearly wanted something more than a push up the stairs and a cursory hand job.

Now, Jeff was hurt, and it was Jensen's fault, and Jeff couldn't or wouldn't tell Jensen what to do to make it better. Jesus, he didn't know what else to do.

~~~

By the time Jensen got to the set on Thursday, he'd bought a plane ticket for the next morning and spent an ungodly amount of money on flowers and the personal assistance of Allan-from-the-flower-shop. It sure as hell didn't seem like it would take that much time and effort to find out where _The Accidental Husband_ was shooting and pick up a copy of _The Village Voice_, but the irrefutable truth was that Jensen didn't have the time or wherewithal to do it himself, so Allan pretty much had him up against the wall.

The worst part was that he had plane tickets for eight o'clock Friday morning but they weren't scheduled to finish shooting the show until Friday afternoon. Jensen spotted Eric Kripke walked across the lot and jogged over to catch him.

"Hey, hey, Eric?" Jensen called out as he got close.

Eric turned around and Jensen felt his boss examining him for a moment before he replied. "What's up? Hey man, you look better."

Which, considering that he was still a little hung-over, was saying something Jensen didn't really like to hear. "Thanks, uh, you know you said I should ask if I needed any help with what's going on right now?"

"Yeah?" Eric looked apprehensive.

"I need tomorrow off." He saw Eric's eyes widen, his mouth opening to speak. "I'm really sorry for the last minute notice, but I--this is a one-time-only opportunity, and I--I need to do this."

Eric met his eyes for a moment and then looked down, nodding. "Okay. Okay, we'll make it work."

"Oh, God." Jensen felt his anxiety at pulling everything together relax a notch. "Thank you! I owe you!"

"Damn straight you do." Eric smirked and patted Jensen on the arm before walking off toward where the rest of the production team was gathered.

~~~

The knock at the door came when Jeff was concentrating on his script pages, trying to get his head in the scene before he had to go out and work again. "Come on in," he called out, resigned to the distraction.

Nobody entered immediately and he heard a small voice calling through the door, "Mr. Morgan?" He got up and walked over to the door of his trailer while the strained, muffled voice continued. "Mr. Morgan, I can't get the door."

When Jeff opened the door, he found one of the smaller PA's struggling under the awkward weight of a huge and dramatic flower arrangement. "Holy shit."

"It's for you," the kid said, struggling to keep his grip on the shallow vase at the base of the arrangement. "Um, do you want it?"

"Yeah." Jeff shook himself out of his shock and jogged down the couple of steps to take the flowers into his own hands. "Thank you."

Back inside his trailer, Jeff set the flowers down on his table and let himself stare. No ordinary spray of carnations and roses. Bright red and orange blooms--birds of paradise--spiraled up a center stalk, rising nearly four feet up from the pot. Near the base, there was a card with his name on it. Jeff's heart pounded heavily in his chest and he closed his eyes, looking at the shimmering traces of the bright flowers in the darkness behind his eyelids. If this thing turned out to be from some producer wanting him in on a project, he was going to feel like an ass.

Jeff pulled the little envelope out of its holder and ripped the flap open with his thumb. When he opened the card, a piece of folded newsprint fluttered to the floor, but he let it go. _Jeff, I know who I am, and I know what I want, and all of that is thanks to you. You showed me the truth. Please let me return the favor. Meet me at the Kane show Friday night so I can apologize in person._

Jeff's hand shook as he bent down to retrieve the newspaper clipping. It was an ad for a local bar, listing the bands playing the next weekend, carefully cut out with the Friday night block circled in blue. KANE, ft. Christian Kane &amp; Steve Carlson. Jensen's friends.

The smarter part of Jeff's brain, the part that had learned from experience, reminded him that he needed to protect himself, needed to stick with the plan and do his best to forget what he'd had--or thought he had--with Jensen. But as he reached out to touch the flowers, his heart beat wildly in his throat and what he felt was something strangely like hope.

~~~

Jeff got out of his cab and stood on the sidewalk outside the bar. He'd been struggling with indecision all day, to the point where he'd been distracted enough to screw up his lines. That kind of distraction was something he couldn't tolerate but there was no way around it. He could only hope to have things resolved, at least in his own mind, by Monday, but for Friday all he could do was apologize to his director, apologize to his costars and move on.

When the sun went down, they finally wrapped shooting, and Jeff picked up some dinner to take back to his hotel room. He took Bisou up to the suite one of his co-stars was occupying in the same pet-friendly hotel; she'd enjoy a doggy play-date with her favorite Greyhound.

Jeff ate his dinner while staring blankly at the TV, his mind endlessly seesawing between staying there, sending Jensen a clear message that he was done and going out to the show, giving Jensen a chance, giving the both of them a chance. Undecided, he'd taken a shower and changed into fresh jeans and a thick black sweater over a t-shirt.

When he left his room and hailed a cab to take him to the East Village, he still hadn't entirely made up his mind, and when he stood outside the door part of him wanted to walk down the block and find another bar where he could be just a shadowed face in a dark corner. _Fuck it_, he decided. He'd go inside, and if things didn't work out then nobody could say he hadn't tried.

He stepped through the door and saw the empty stage. The band was between sets and a Tom Petty CD played instead. The room was fairly crowded, the seats filled and people standing around between the tables. Jeff couldn't see Jensen, but that didn't mean he wasn't there. He pulled out his wallet to pay the cover charge, but the kid manning the door shook his head, dark blond dreadlocks shaking around his face. "No, man, you're good. There's a table reserved for you."

"Um, okay." The kid turned and walked away and Jeff followed him over to a small, empty table with two chairs, halfway hidden behind a post on the far left side of the room. A piece of paper with _RESERVED_ scrawled across it in black marker was folded in half, propped up in the middle of the table, but the kid picked it up and nodded Jeff toward the chairs.

"Jana'll be over to get your order in a minute, if you want a drink."

"Thanks." Jeff nodded and sat down, confused by the empty table and Jensen's absence. When the girl came by a minute later, he ordered himself a beer and a shot and settled in to wait.

The table they'd kept for him was perfect--it had a clear view of the stage, despite being off to the side, and with the wall to one side of the table and the post at the other he was somewhat insulated from the press of the crowd of standing people. It surprised him, then, when a stranger wearing a cowboy hat and jeans with a sweat-soaked t-shirt sat down in the chair he had assumed would be Jensen's.

"Hey!" The man greeted him, taking off his hat and setting it down on the table.

"Hello," Jeff answered, keeping his voice even but uninviting.

"Oh, man, sorry." The stranger held out his hand. "I'm Chris Kane."

"Oh, hey." Jeff shook Chris's hand, relieved that he didn't have to deal with some random, overly-friendly stranger at his table. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, thanks for coming out to the show. Jen'll be glad you're here."

"Is he--"

"He's been hanging out in the back with me and Steve. I hope…" Chris's voice trailed off.

"Yeah?"

"I hope you give him a chance. I know he fucked up, but he's a good boy."

"I know." Jeff stopped and coughed to clear his throat. _Jensen told Chris?_ "I know that. But thanks."

"Cool. Well, we're about to go back out for our second set." He smiled and Jeff wondered if Chris's smile always had that wicked edge to it. "You should see Jen in a minute."

Jeff nodded and Chris took his leave, greeting a few other people in the crowd before heading back behind the little stage to whatever room the band hung out in between sets. Jeff took a few sips of his beer and then the lights dimmed. The background mumble of the crowd around him reduced to a whisper.

Chris walked out on stage without his guitar and, as the crowd clapped, he stepped up to one of the mics set up in front. "Hey, y'all!" He shouted, waiting for the crowd to quiet down again. "Hey, before the rest of us come back out to do our second set, a good friend of mine is going to come out and sing something for you. He's a little shy, so give him some love!"

While the crowd applauded dutifully, Chris adjusted the mic down closer to the floor and pulled a chair over in front of it before walking off stage. Jeff's heart raced and he took a long swallow of his beer to soothe his suddenly rough throat. He looked down and, when he looked up, Jensen had stepped onto the stage. He had his black baseball cap on, pulled low over his forehead, and glasses obscuring his eyes. Jeans and a black t-shirt did nothing to hide the shape of the body Jeff knew so well.

With his guitar in hand, Jensen sat down in front of the mic. "Hi, everyone." He greeted the crowd quietly before starting to play. Jensen bent forward as he played, and between the angle of his body and the brim of his hat his face was completely obscured. The watching crowd couldn't see him, and all Jensen would be able to see was his instrument, his legs, and the scuffed linoleum of the stage floor below.

Jeff didn't recognize the song at first. It sounded vaguely familiar but the way Jensen played it--slow and deliberate, full of emotion, musically spare with just a hint of country twang--let Jensen's singing shine through, and the sound of his voice distracted Jeff from the words themselves. Jensen's voice--Jeff closed his eyes, just listening. He'd never heard Jensen sing before, and it was beautiful--rich and resonant, if a little hesitant at first. As Jensen got close to the end of the first verse, the words and the song itself became clear to Jeff.

_I don't wanna lose your love tonight_

The song that Jensen was singing became clear and Jeff swallowed thickly, knowing that this was all for him. This whole room of people was bearing witness to Jensen, such a private person stripping his feelings bare, but Jensen was singing for him. As if sensing Jeff's thoughts, Jensen raised his head as he moved into the next verse.

_I ain't got many friends left to talk to  
No one's around when I'm in trouble  
You know I'd do anything for you  
Stay the night but keep it undercover_

He looked straight at Jeff as he sung each word and Jeff couldn't look away. He could barely breathe, the air tight in his lungs while his heart pounded. Jeff had wanted proof that Jensen could be honest about his feelings--honest with himself, with Jeff, with other people. Jensen had told Chris, had almost certainly told Jared. And this--this was no performance.

Jensen had mentioned once that he didn't like to sing for other people. He sang sometimes for fun but mainly it was something he kept for himself. This, singing a love song, such an honest and plain rendition, in front of Jeff and all these other people, was the most courageous act of honesty Jeff could imagine from Jensen.

_ I can't hide the way I'm feelin'_

Jensen's voice cracked at the end of the line and he looked back down at his guitar, hiding his eyes again. Jeff felt tears prickle behind his own eyes but he couldn't look away; he didn't know if he'd ever see this again, and he didn't want to miss a second of it. The bar around Jeff was quiet, except for a few whispers, as though everyone understood that something important was happening up on stage.

As Jensen reached the end of the song, he crooned the chorus more loudly than he had the previous verses.

_I just wanna use your love tonight  
I don't wanna lose your love tonight  
I just wanna use your love tonight  
I don't wanna lose your love tonight_

Jensen finished singing and, after his fingers strummed out the last notes, he sat still; head down, his hands flat on the wood of the guitar. He said a quiet, "Thanks," into the mic and then stood up to leave. Jeff stood up, too, and moved through the crowd and the maze of tables as quickly as he could to get to the little hallway that led to the kitchen and backstage.

Jensen, now without his guitar, stepped out into the hallway and stopped--his expression frozen--as he looked at Jeff. Too many words crowded in Jeff's throat for him to make any sense of them, so he just reached out, wrapping a hand around Jensen's bicep and pulling him in close. Jensen exhaled a shaky breath and Jeff wrapped both arms around him, holding tight.

~~~

Jensen's head buzzed as he walked off the stage, his fingers tingling where they'd pressed against the guitar strings. He'd been able to see Jeff while he sang, the one truly familiar face in the crowd. Jeff had come. He'd listened and now Jensen could only hope that what he'd had to say--to sing--had been enough.

Jensen had spent a couple of hour sitting on a sagging couch in the skeevy back room where the band hung out before the show and between sets. Waiting to see if Jeff showed up. Waiting to see if he'd make an utter fool of himself on stage only to watch Jeff shake his head and walk out. Waiting to see if he would have to go back to LA the next day and pick up the pieces of himself as best he could. When Chris told him that Jeff was sitting out front, Jensen felt something inside that made him wonder if, when people said their heart leapt, they really meant their stomach.

Playing up on the stage, he did his best to sing around the lump in his throat. When he got to the lines that called out Jeff's name in his head, he had to look up - had to do his best to make sure Jeff understood what he was trying to say. Jeff kept watching, his eyes burning into Jensen even when he lowered his head back down. When Jensen got the courage to look back out at Jeff again, he wondered if it was a trick of the lights or a reflection of his glasses, or if wetness really shone in Jeff's dark, hooded eyes.

Jensen took off from the stage as quickly as he could, desperate to get to Jeff before he left. He couldn't hear if the crowd was applauding or booing past the buzzing in hi head, and he didn't care either way. He dumped his guitar on the old couch, not taking his usual care to put it in its case, and rushed out of the room.

Jeff was standing in front of him, not three feet away.

Jensen froze. All of this effort to get to one moment, the two of them in the same place, and Jensen was terrified to say the wrong thing, do the wrong--

Jeff's hand on his arm, Jeff's chest against his own. Jensen released the breath he'd been holding for far too long, and then Jeff's arms were all the way around him, holding him in snug against Jeff's broad body. Jensen returned the embrace, wrapping one arm around Jeff's lower back and the other across his shoulders; threading his fingers through the thick, curling hair at the back of Jeff's head.

Jensen breathed in the scent of Jeff, of that damn sandalwood soap he loved so much. He thought that the two of them probably made quite the sight, just holding on like they would drown if they let go, not even moving, but he couldn't even care. He finally felt strong enough to say what he truly felt--his own words, not those written by anyone else.

"I love you," he whispered into Jeff's ear. "God, I love you and I'm sorry for lying, sorry I hurt you. I--"

"Shhhh." Jeff's breath brushed against his ear, and then Jeff held him even tighter for a few heartbeats before pulling away just far enough that they could see each other's faces.

"I love you, too." Jeff's voice was low and rough, his eyes as red as Jensen suspected his own were. "And thank you, I--nobody ever did anything like that for me before."

"I'd do it every night if I had to, to make you believe--"

Jeff pressed a hand flat on the side of Jensen's face, and Jensen closed his eyes, breathing into the feeling of skin against skin, so intimate. "I believe you. Not even you're that good an actor."

Jensen smiled, his cheek pushing against Jeff's hand. "Do you, uh, want to stay for the rest of the set?"

"Oh, God, no. I mean--" Jeff stopped, looking chagrined. "Not because of the music. If you--"

"I've heard them play lots of times. Just give me a second to grab my stuff."

Jeff pulled his hand away from Jensen's face, stroking across his skin as he did so, then loosened his grip on Jensen's arms. "A second I can live with."

Jensen sighed, pulling away reluctantly, and stepped back into the room where he found Chris and Steve still waiting for him. He'd assumed they'd be up on stage and he hadn't paid any attention to the lack of live music.

"So? You boys good now or do we need a new plan?" Chris nodded his head to the doorway behind Jensen.

"We're good." Jensen grabbed his flannel shirt and shrugged it on over his tee. "Jesus, Chris, I can't thank you--"

"Aw, get the fuck out of here. We got a show to play." Chris's warm smile belied his gruff words and Jensen wished yet again that he hadn't waited so long to let his friends in on this.

"Okay." Jensen pulled on his coat and grabbed his duffle from the floor and then stopped to look at his guitar. "Do you think you could take care of my guitar for me?"

"Sure, no problem." Chris nodded. "Now git!"

Jensen grinned and walked back out into the hallway where Jeff waited. As they worked their way through the crowded room, Jeff's hand on his arm to keep them together, Jensen heard Chris on stage behind him.

"Sorry for the delay folks, but we're back. This next song goes out to a very special couple out there. It's called 'Crazy in Love.'"

~~~

The raucous sound of the band followed them out onto the street but, once they got into a cab, they were on their own. The cabbie was listening to some kind of talk radio, muffled voices from beyond the partition. Jensen tuned it out, paying attention instead to the light pressure of Jeff's hand around his.

Jeff kept his grip on Jensen's arm even after they got out of the bar. He hailed a cab with his free hand and then gently pulled Jensen inside after him. As the minutes passed, their cab gliding over wet streets between sitting at lights, Jeff's hand relaxed and slid down until it was clasped loosely around Jensen's wrist. Jensen turned his hand over, fingers curling up from the set between them, and then they were palm-to-palm.

The loose hold felt like a lifeline and, when the cab pulled up in front of Jeff's hotel, Jensen pulled his hand away only long enough to pay the driver. He shoved his wallet back in his pocket and then took Jeff's hand again, using it to pull him out onto the sidewalk.

Even in the silence of the elevator, they didn't speak. Jensen watched Jeff's reflection shimmer in the high-gloss doors and waited.

Inside Jeff's room, both of their coats stuffed into the little closet by the door, the first thing Jensen noticed was the flowers. He'd seen a picture on the web but that was the basic version - and he'd hoped that the extra-super-hulked-out version was all Allan said it would be. Now, seeing the sheer size of it, the number of big, fancy blooms, Jensen felt himself blush a little at how excessive it was but he had to admit that Allan was no liar.

Jeff stood behind Jensen and wrapped his arms around Jensen's waist. "I can't believe you sent me those flowers. They nearly crushed a PA."

Jensen turned around in Jeff's arms, twining his arms around Jeff's back. He felt oddly like they were about to start slow dancing. "I wanted you to know that you're worth that to me. Just because we're guys, it's not like we can't--you're worth it to me. Worth anything."

Jeff tilted his head and pressed his lips to Jensen's. Jensen opened his mouth, letting Jeff in, and squeezed his arms around Jeff's back, pulling him in closer. Jeff tasted like beer, and the hot strength of his kiss made Jensen moan deep in his throat. Jeff pulled back just far enough to trace his tongue across Jensen's bottom lip. He kissed his way down Jensen's chin, sliding the tip of his tongue into the slight cleft and kissing gently at the soft, hollow area under his chin. Then Jensen felt his open mouth, Jeff's tongue wet and flat against his throat.

Jensen slid his hands up Jeff's back and cradled them around the back of Jeff's head. Working his fingers into Jeff's hair, he moaned, sending the vibration into Jeff's waiting mouth.

"Oh, God," Jeff gasped against Jensen's neck. "I've gotta get you horizontal."

"No argument here." Jensen put his hands between them, flat on Jeff's chest, and smoothed his palms over the soft knit of Jeff's sweater. The thickness of it played up the width of Jeff's upper body, reminding Jensen of what it felt like to lay under that chest, falling apart and coming back together under the protection of those shoulders. And the beautiful power of wrapping his arms around that back and holding Jeff safe while he fell apart in turn.

Jensen wished desperately that he could take back the past few weeks, wipe away the weeks of not talking and erase the fight and the hurt look on Jeff's face--that he could go back to that morning and stay in the bed instead of bolting. He couldn't do that and he couldn't give them back those precious free days together, but he had this one perfect Friday night--and Saturday and half of Sunday before he had to go back to Vancouver. If he had anything to say about it, they'd spend the majority of the weekend right there in Jeff's room.

Jensen slid his hands down Jeff's chest to the narrow waist hidden under the bulk of his sweater. A layer of t-shirt, cotton warm from Jeff's body, still stood in between his fingers and Jeff's bare skin; he unbuttoned Jeff's jeans and pulled the t-shirt up until he could wrap his hands around Jeff's narrow hips. Jeff's breath hitched under his hands and he pushed the layers of fabric up to bunch around Jeff's chest.

Jeff took over then, slipping the shirts over his head and shrugging out of the sleeves. Naked from the waist up, boxers peeking out from the open fly of his jeans, Jeff wasted no time in pushing the flannel shirt off Jensen's shoulders. Jensen shook his wrists out of the cuffs and then crossed his arms to pull off his own t-shirt while Jeff tugged at his belt.

Jensen knew they'd have to pull apart to get their jeans and shoes off but he had to get some of that skin against his right away. He leaned forward and kissed Jeff, pressing his chest in against Jeff's and he could feel Jeff's breath moving in counterpoint to his own, Jeff's cock pressing hard into his hip, the same way his own cock was pushing against denim to find heat and pressure.

"Fuck," he panted, gasping against Jeff's jaw. "We gotta--"

"Yeah," Jeff answered, bending down to tug off his shoes. Jensen did the same, and after a moment of desperate rustling, they stood before each other naked.

Jeff turned to look at his beside table and then back around to look at Jensen with an edge of panic in his eyes. "Shit, I don't have any-- I didn't bring--"

"I've got it." Jensen grinned and walked over to where he'd dropped his bag on the floor. He squatted down, feeling awkwardly naked for a second, and stood up with a box of condoms and a bottle of lube in his hands. "I was hopeful."

"Oh, babe, I'm so glad." Jensen's breath caught; Jeff clearly meant more than just the supplies.

"Here," Jensen handed the condoms over to Jeff and walked past him, brushing his hip casually against Jeff's cock as he pulled back the bed covers and climbed up, holding onto the lube himself. Jensen arranged himself on his back, with his knees up comfortably and a pillow under his ass. He looked at Jeff, who still stood next to the bed holding the condoms in his hand, and squeezed a generous amount of lube into his hand.

Eyes locked on Jeff, Jensen spread his knees and reached his hand down, sliding one slick finger inside himself. Jeff's eyes went wide and dark. He climbed onto the bed and knelt between Jensen's knees, his eyes flitting up to keep contact with Jensen and then down again. Jensen worked some lube inside and then slipped two fingers in, breathing into the stretch as his muscles relaxed. He pumped his fingers in and out, knowing Jeff was watching, loving the thought of preparing himself for Jeff.

Jeff ripped the condom open, rolling the sheath over his cock, and Jensen pulled his fingers out of the wet grip of his ass. He squeezed some more lube into his palm then sat up and wrapped his hand lightly around Jeff's cock, twisting his wrist to spread the lube until Jeff grabbed his arm tight.

"Stop," he panted. "It's enough. It's--God."

Jensen let himself fall back to the pillows and Jeff moved in, his hands wide and warm on Jensen's hips as he got into position, the heavy head of his cock bumping against Jensen's ass.

Jensen breathed out as Jeff pushed inside. It burned for a moment, and Jensen clamped his hand down on Jeff's shoulder to say _Wait, hold here._

Jeff waited, his chest heaving above Jensen's, his eyes squeezed closed as he struggled for control. The burn faded and Jensen gentled his hold on Jeff's shoulder into a caress down his arm. "Okay," he gasped out.

Jeff started moving again, thrusting in and out, and he wrapped one hand around Jensen's cock, pumping his arm in time with his hips.

The simultaneous stimulation pushed Jensen down into the mattress, back toward the headboard, closer and closer to coming. Jeff's thrusts grew faster and rougher, his face twisted up, sweat standing out on his straining neck. Jensen closed his eyes, feeling his breaths start to shudder in his chest, pressure building between his hips. As he came, shooting hard onto his own chest and Jeff's, he felt Jeff trembling, heard him groan low and tight as he came, too. Right there with Jensen. Right there, together.

As Jensen fell deep into sleep his last thought was that the weight of Jeff's chest bearing his own down into the mattress was the kind of blanket he wished he could have every night.

\---

A/N: The song Jensen sings is, of course, "Your Love" by The Outfield. [This](http://pics.livejournal.com/embroiderama/pic/0004hy8h) is the basic version of the flowers Jensen sent.


End file.
